The last thing of all under the window was a great old chest. Nettie could not move it, and she concluded it might stay there very conveniently for a seat. All the rest of the pile she cleared away, and then opened the window. There was no sash; nothing but a wooden shutter fastened with a hook. Nettie threw it open. There, to her great joy, behold she had the very same view of her hills, all shining in the sun now. Only this window was higher than her old one, and lifted her up more above the tops of the trees, and gave a better and clearer and wider view of the distant open country she liked so much. Nettie was greatly delighted, and refreshed herself with a good look out and a breath of fresh air before she began her labours again. That gave the dust a little chance to settle, too.
There was a good deal to do yet before she could have a place clear for her bed, not to speak of anything more. However, it was done at last; the floor brushed up, all ready, and the top of the chest wiped clean; and next Nettie set about bringing all her things up the stairs and setting them here, where she could. Her clothes, her little bit of a looking-glass, her Bible and books and slate, even her little washstand, she managed to lug up to the attic; with many a journey and much pains. But it was about done, before her mother called her to breakfast. The two lagging members of the family had been roused at last, and were seated at the table.
"Why, what have you been doing, child? how you look!" said Mrs. Mathieson.
"How do I look?" said Nettie.
"Queer enough," said her father.
Nettie laughed, and hastened to another subject; she knew if they got upon this there would be some disagreeable words before it was over. She had made up her mind what to do, and now handed her father the money remaining from her purchases. "You gave me too much, father, last night," she said, simply; "here is the rest." Mr. Mathieson took it and looked at it.
"Did I give you all this?"
"Yes, father."
"Did you pay for what you got, besides?"
"Yes."